


Surrender

by Wolfscub



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: D/s, Dubious Consent, Erotica, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Kinky, Mention of Lactation, Rape/Non-con Elements?, Sex, Spanking, dom!Tom, dominant Tom, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfscub/pseuds/Wolfscub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An innocent game of cards descends into smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> VERY NSFW!!!
> 
> Mature Audiences ONLY!!!
> 
> There is talk of FORCED PREGNANCY in this story.
> 
> There is talk of lactation, also.
> 
> I have added a rape/non con warning, although I don't see it that way personally. My apologies if anyone who read this originally found it unexpectedly triggering.
> 
> If you find any of the above elements to be disturbing, please go find something else to read.
> 
> This story didn't start out to be what it ended up being, but I always follow my muse. There's a distinct difference between the tone in the first third and the the rest of it. Just so's you know.
> 
> And, for what it's worth, I was practically cumming by the time I finished writing it. So . . . yeah. TMI, I know. Ah well.
> 
> Spanking, D/s, Dom!Tom, Forced Pregnancy, Mention of Lactation, Kinky, Smutty Smut Smut, Erotica, Sex

"I knew you were going to schlep out there and take that ace I just put down, you sniveller, you."

Tom laughed unrepentantly and arranged the ill gotten cards in his hand, looking up once to wink mischievously at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Don't be flashing that thing around unless you intend to use it, dearest," he teased.

I didn't think anything of what he said - we were always like that with each other.

"I bet that's the only time in your life - before or after this moment - that the word 'schlep' is going to be used in conjunction with you."

He looked genuinely puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

My eyes nearly rolled out of my head at that. "Because you're a smooth motherfucker, Hiddleston."

His eyebrows rose.

"Like _budduh_. You glide through life bestowing heart stopping grins here, sage advice there, calling women you don't even know 'my darling', apologizing for your mere existence and making the entire female population of the planet love you just that much more because of how fucking unrealistically humble you are."

That just got me a soft chuckle - although I did notice that he was blushing just the slightest bit.

On a sudden inspiration I asked, "Have you read what Benedict Cumberbatch said about what Sherlock would be like in bed?"

His eyes went wide. "I'm surprised he addressed that subject at all, but no, I didn't. What'd he say?" he asked with mild interest as he put a useless three of clubs on the discard pile.

On top of all his other multiple virtues, the asshole played cards like a regular shark.

Yet another reason to hate his marvelous guts.

Knowing him, even his innards were probably gorgeous.

Bastard.

"Well, I bet you're just the same. I bet when you're with a woman you don’t even have to get your hands - or anywhere else - dirty to bring her off. You could just stand there in the doorway to the bedroom and eyefuck her from there. Hell, you could _phone it in_ if you really wanted to. She'd prolly cum just as hard - although then she'd be missing the - _your_ \- best part, I suppose," I mused casually, discarding a king I really needed to complete a set because I was so bloody distracted by the conversation.

"My best part?" He eyed me suspiciously. "And how would you know anything about that?"

I almost wasn't able to hold back my snort of derision. Any woman who had seen him in pants - or God forbid a codpiece - had absolutely no illusions as to what part of him was likely to be of most interest. In some particularly notorious outfits, it practically reached out and shook their hand before _he_ did!

So I played it as cool as my thrumming nerves would allow me to. I was always a bit nervous around him when we got onto the subject of sex; I didn't feel guilt or shame about sex at all - never really had - but this man made me feel like a blushing virgin even though I knew he wasn't try to do anything of the sort.

. . . Usually.

"One hears things about rumors . . . or, perhaps more accurately, rumors about . .. _things_ . . . "

"Things?" He snatched up my king - apparently at least one of us was still playing this stupid game - his brow furrowed deeply at my words.

Or was that at his hand?

We were in his flat playing gin - a card game I adored playing but _suh-huh-hucked_ at, one that I'd just taught him recently, and he with his keen mind was still interested in the sheer novelty of it so we played quite frequently.

I had stayed the night last night - his first night home in several months, which always demanded a sleepover where we caught up with each other and the telly he'd missed - well, the shows he watched that I could tolerate, anyway, ate horribly bad food and got roaring drunk - him more so than me, usually.

As much as I adored Tom, and I definitely did adore him, I couldn't let myself go too much around him or, in my inebriated state I'd be quite likely to either let something entirely too revealing about how I really felt about him slip, or to out and out tackle him and drag him to bed by his . . . well . . . anyway.

I was still in a light, pretty robe thrown loosely over the lavender satin tap set I let him think I have tons of to wear to bed at night when the bald truth was that, more often than not, I slept in an ancient t-shirt and panties. I looked about as sexy as I was likely to ever get, considering I don't try at all - and even less so around him. 

I wouldn't _dare_ to try to entice him. He'd take me up on it just on lark, and then where'd I be? Despite the fact that he was the undisputed star of all of my masturbatory fantasies, I couldn't possibly actually fuck him … 

Could I?

He was at one end of the smallish table in his sunny breakfast nook and I was at the other, his long legs stretched out in front of him beneath it - bare entirely too far up due to the form fitting jersey short-shorts he was wearing. They didn't start out as short shorts, but the man is so fucking tight with a quid about some things that I know they're several years old, at least, judging by the obvious wear in certain very interesting places.

And they'd obviously shrunk delightfully in the wash.

I made a mental note to buy him some more of them.

 _Lots_ more.

Even though my legs were depressingly short - especially in comparison to his - the length of his more than made up for my lack and, as a result, our limbs were tangled together, one of his on the outside, one on the inside of mine, which proved terribly distracting to what is always a weirdly challenging game for me anyway - even more so when he was my opponent.

I'd forgotten to put socks on which made me shiver a bit, deliberately moving my bare feet to rest on his warm shins, making him sit bolt upright in his chair, although those long legs proved a distinct disadvantage 'cause he had nowhere to move them to, really, to escape the wrath of my distinctly Jotun appendages.

"Bloody hell, your feet are like ice!" he yelped, surprising me by then reaching down to capture first one ankle, then the other to pull them both into what there was of his non-existent lap.

His _lap_ , I said.

His. _Motherfucking. Lap_.

The soles of my feet - which were, unfortunately, so cold they couldn't really feel anything, were resting against his . . . 

Him.

Where he was the _most_ . . . _him_ , and no matter how hard I tried those fingers wouldn't let either of my ankles go.

In fact, he had the audacity to stare across the table at me and give me that look, warning, "Stay still. Miss Thang," a bit of his Hank accent coming through as it seemed to at odd times now, "Consider what your feet are in front of."

Like I could think about anything else!

Dear God, was I _blushing_ at that remark?!

"I brought them there because it's probably the warmest point on my body -"

I just bet it fucking well was!

" . . . And, having done so, please remember that I'd really prefer not to have you kick me in the dick."

That was the last thing I wanted to do to what I could only assume was a very gorgeous dick.

It certainly was large, and getting larger, I gulped. Even cold and numb, my tootsies could discern that.

Reluctantly, I did my best to remain still, although it was far from easy.

Especially when he began to rub my feet briskly between those beautiful hands of his, alternating between them until he could feel my skin warming.

Of course, I was trying desperately not to melt into a puddle of goo, and I wasn't doing very well at it. I would have sold my mother to have felt free enough to moan at what he was doing, because as soon as he determined they were warm enough, he quickly switched to massaging them, and I had to swallow down not just moans, but out and out cries of ecstasy.

Apparently, though, I couldn't help the fact that my eyes had drifted shut and my head lolled back a bit.

"Are you asleep?" he accused, but he didn't sound mad and he didn't stop rubbing.

"Mumph."

Damn, his soft chuckle might as well have been expelled onto my privates! And his hands could have been kneading my breasts or flicking that particular spot between my legs - my body was having same response as if he was!

"If I had to guess, I'd say that you look like you're already halfway _there_ , babygirl," he rumbled, several tones lower than his usual, all traces of Hank gone.

This was pure Tom.

He was much too astute in his observations of me, and I knew I had to snap out of this or things were going to get very out of hand.

So I forced myself to raise my head and open my eyes, tugging my feet out of hands that released me very reluctantly, maintaining contact with my skin for as long as they possibly could.

I cleared my throat as I straightened in the chair. "Whose turn is it?"

"I'm hoping it might finally be _my_ turn," he answered, leaning towards me, his torso covering most of the table, and there was no mistaking the hungry look on his face.

"Your turn to do what?" I replied, trying for oblivious but not at all sure I pulled it off, mindlessly rearranging the cards in my hand into no helpful order but needing something to do other than staring into those hypnotic eyes of his.

But I could see his wolfish grin over the top of them when I continued to stare uncomprehendingly at my hand. 

"To do _you_."

My old standby, defensive response to that kicked in immediately and I snorted derisively. "You wouldn't have any idea what to do with me in bed, Mister."

"Oh yeah?"

It was my turn to chuckle at him. "Now that's an articulate response if I ever heard one. All that education and that's all you can come up with?" I teased.

"Wanna bet?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly. "You underestimate me at your peril, my dear."

My - my _peril_?! What had gotten into him?

I hated it when he called my bluff like this. "I would hate to make you part with your hard earned money like that."

"Who said we'd be betting money? I'd much rather have your total and complete submission to me - your surrender."

Every nerve in my body went on red alert as I practically stopped breathing.

I swallowed hard. Well, that was enough of that. 

Putting on my best affable act, as if flirting him like this wasn't practically making me flood my panties, the seat cushion beneath me, as well as the floor under it while at the same time making me so soul crushingly nervous that I felt as if I was going to be sick any minute, I replied, "Why, no, Thomas. I don't want to bet."

"Because you know you'll lose and you're afraid of it, but you needn't be."

He rose, and I remained stock still, willing myself to stare at nothing but my hands or the table in front of me.

But I was excruciatingly attuned to everything he did - the first of which was to pluck the cards from me to scatter them carelessly on the floor.

I was left staring at hands that were slowly enveloped by his giant ones, making me feel just that much more acutely vulnerable to him and whatever it was that he had planned.

And I could never have guessed in a million years what that ended up being.

He came to stand behind me unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world, bending down and over me at the same time, which was more than a little overwhelming, but all of his actions were very lazy and slow, which helped dampen my feelings of panic.

The fingers of one hand split around my wrists to grasp them gently, then bring them up and back to rest at the back of his neck, and it might appear to a casual observer as if I was holding him in place.

But he must've known that that was the furthest thing from my mind.

In fact, I began to remove them almost immediately until he scolded softly, "Do you have permission to remove your hands from where I've just put them, doll?"

I froze.

_Fuck. Me._

Was that a purely dominant - if gentle - tone I heard?

It couldn't have been because I was still _alive_.

While he awaited my answer, those knowing hands of his were far from idle. They pulled apart my loosely knotted robe, then came to rest possessively on my tummy, just above the waistband of the shorts and just under the hem of the camisole I was wearing.

I'm not a rail thin woman - far from it, which was one of the myriad reasons why I had never seriously considered that Tom would ever actually _become_ my lover - but his hands were big enough that his thumbs were dangerously close to the bottom swells of my breasts, which had me holding my breath.

"No," I barely breathed.

"Then keep them where I put them or there will be _very_ unpleasant consequences, I promise you."

Please tell me that I did _not_ just whimper out loud at that pronouncement, which assumed entirely too much and which I knew I should have refuted, immediately and vehemently.

"But I don't need the artifice of a bet to make you mine, because I _know_ what you want."

That was when his mouth found my ear and began nibbling on it, as if he thought that would somehow distract me from the fact that his hands were beginning to move up along the all too soft flesh of my stomach, those long, greedy fingers widening so that the edges of his index fingers caught the bottoms of my long since pebbled nipples, thumbs hurrying to join them in surrounding that ultra sensitive, aching flesh he cupped tightly from the bottom, squeezing them into even further prominence then applying pressure that began as light but increased until I could no longer suppress the urge to writhe and moan as he began an almost milking motion. 

The thought flashed into my head that if I had been lactating, his chair across the table from me would have been drenched from his efforts.

As if he was reading my mind, he whispered in a voice I recognized from his recording of _The Red Necklace_ , "I promise you that, in the future, I will keep these full of milk, and you full of my babies."

I gasped. 

_Loudly_.

Holy mother of - 

How the hell could he possibly have known -?

I hadn't told _those_ particular fantasies to _anyone_.

Had I?

"Very shortly, you will be mine, in the most complete sense of the word. I've waited for you to come round to me yourself, naturally, much longer than I should have. I should have taken you for my own that first night we were introduced and never let you out of my bed from that point on." His lips brushed my ear as his voice lowered even further, and he proceeded to implode what was left of my mind with what he rumbled huskily next.

"When you're not pregnant, I will devote all of my considerable attentions to getting you that way again - the way you were born to be. I will rut on you, breed you to me avidly until you're caught, again and again - you will spend your lifetime with me always heavy with my child, your already gorgeously lush breasts increased at least another cup size, heavy and swollen as they will be with sustenance for our children."

And as he spoke, one hand moved very slowly, very deliberately southward, back down over my belly, with absolutely no sign of hesitance whatsoever, slipping his fingertips beneath the loose elastic waistband of the shorts I was wearing to delve boldly between my legs, curving around me, fingers spreading and forcing me to adjust my legs open on a low whimper.

He was touching me - there! I tried to shake my head - this had to be a dream, didn't it? This couldn't really be happening . . . !

But then his arms contracted very tightly - which contributed to my breathlessness and made me feel instantly, almost frighteningly submissive whether I wanted to or not, as if he had a hold of my throat instead - and he lifted me out of the chair and back against him, easily holding me still, one hard band of an arm around my chest and the other- to my deep shame - forcefully gripping the intimate groove he already possessed, my own weight forcing my privates against his all too eager hand.

I was panting helplessly, still unable to really comprehend what was happening - I mean, one minute we were playing cards like we've done a thousand times before and suddenly he was crushing my breasts, talking to me very dominantly about forcibly impregnating me - which was a relatively new - and frighteningly powerful - kink of mine - and laying undeniable claim to parts of me I would have sworn he never had any interest in.

Boy, was I wrong!

My eyes widened as he kicked my chair out of his way, taking a step forward, closer to the table, his left arm leaving my breasts to swipe across the surface, sending everything that had been on it to the floor.

He paused for a moment, that same hand coming up to rest not at my breasts, as I expected, but conforming itself to my throat instead, squeezing in a manner that could only be described as close to menacing. 

As my arousal ratcheted through the roof, I remained still beneath his touch, his hold forcing me to wrench my neck back to stare helplessly at the ceiling, so I felt rather than saw how he slipped the robe from my shoulders, then, as if merely dealing with what little clothing I was wearing incensed him, the thin straps of my camisole yielded to him with a soft _snap_ as he tore it from me - that, unfortunately, made me start and momentarily remove my hands from around his neck in fright, which earned me a loud tsk as he did the same thing to the bottoms until my clothing was in a pool at my feet and I was pressed, naked, back against him.

"That was your first transgression, babygirl. The first of what I can assure you will be many, each of which you will be made to most thoroughly regret."

With that he grabbed my hair and bent me over the table I had seconds ago been sitting at.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't move a muscle." 

He'd never used that tone with me before - hell, he'd never said anything - in any way - like he was now. I didn’t know whether to try to put my foot down and put a stop to this or relax and go wherever he led.

. . . Yes I did. There was really no question about what I was going to do. My mind could debate it forever, and probably would - but my _body_ was more than willing to follow him pretty much anywhere he wanted to go.

I was too wrapped up in my own uncertainties about the situation to do what I probably should have and paid attention to what was in his hand when he returned.

"Reach across and grab the edge of the table and keep your toes on the floor." 

When I did so, I was so tightly stretched that those were the only parts of my feet that were still in contact with the plush carpet. "I doubt I need to say this, but if you break position, I will begin this again."

He didn't give me a chance to ask what "this" was.

And, seconds later, I knew with a chilling certainty that I definitely didn't _want_ to know.

I just knew - from the very first stroke - that I wanted it to _stop_!

That first one was an education in and of itself, the sharp, unbelievable pain it delivered - seemingly effortlessly on his part as he stood to one side and raised his arm in an unrelenting rhythm that became horribly familiar very quickly - knocking the breath from me and never quite allowing me to regain it, since I was constantly expelling it on a wail or a moan or - with alarming speed - a scream.

Somehow, my body managed to pretty much lock my fingers over that edge, thankfully, not that I didn't try to writhe and wiggling my butt out of the target zone, but my motions were quite severely restricted, and every lick landed exactly where he intended.

The harder part was keeping my toes in place, since there was a frantic, desperate need to kick out - not even at him, necessarily, but just in silent protest.

How I managed not to, I'll never know.

My world narrowed dramatically to just Tom, the stiff, doubled over leather strap I caught sight of then thoroughly regretted having done so, and my roasted behind. There was no scathing lecture. The room was quiet except for the startlingly loud _snap_ of leather against flesh that desperately tried - unsuccessfully in every case - to cringe away from its kiss and the desperate cries of the true distress it brought in its wake.

When he'd finished, he stretched the strap out on the table next to me - silent incentive to continue obeying him - then, allowing me no recovery time whatsoever, he reached down and grabbed an ankle, using it to guide my knee onto the edge of the table I was already draped over, quickly doing the same thing to its twin, one hand at the small of my back to steady me, as he opened me obscenely before him.

I raised my head a bit to look back at him and received a powerful swat that made me howl when it fell against my already swollen, tenderized skin. "No matter what I do to you, you must keep your right cheek in contact with the table at all times, or I'll make even better use of your friend there."

He meant the strap, of course, although it was certainly no friend of mine.

To my complete humiliation, I saw him squat directly behind me, as if he wanted a better look at me - at the parts of me he'd just exposed.

His sudden sharp intake of breath startled me. "I was a bit concerned that I might have gone too hard on you for your first punishment, but you are _literally_ dripping onto the table."

I couldn't stop the way my entire body blushed at his revealing statement, especially as I could feel his warm breath puffing over my privates with every word he uttered - he was _that_ close to me.

My humiliation - and blush - deepened tremendously as he leisurely conducted something that seemed horribly like a very intimate inspection, rubbing and touching every inch of me, from the very tip of my cleft down over a clit that was so swollen and sensitive that I jerked and yelped even at his rough, almost clinical touch. He didn't linger there, gliding to the entrance to my cunt and rubbing there a bit, but not - as I was mortified to realize I wanted him to do - pressing into me in the least, then down even further, making me close my eyes in horror as he continued to trail his wet fingers all the way down the rest of my valley, lingering threateningly at my bottom hole, tapping it and making me wail, "No, please!"

"Every bit of you belongs to me, love. Some bits will naturally receive more attention than others, and this bit -" he rapped his fingers smartly against that tender spot, "will receive plenty of it."

He rose to lean over me, his hand remaining between my spread legs as he unfurled himself heavily - threateningly - atop me, his other hand burying itself in my hair, fingers tight to my scalp as he yanked my head back and thrust three fingers into me at the same time.

"NO!"

It passed my lips through no thought of my own.

And I was made to regret it seconds later as I was treated to round two with the strap before the protest had died on my lips.

I was a mess when he finally resumed his former position, hair violently pulled, neck arched uncomfortably back as he again shoved those eager fingers up inside me.

"No is a word you do not say to me."

Although he didn't ask, I felt as if he wanted some sort of answer. 

"Yes, Sir," I whimpered.

He purred a growl deep in his throat at my answer and began pumping most of his hand mercilessly in and out of me.

"I know you don't think I understand your needs, darling, but I do. I know exactly what you want, and I fully intend to give it to you. You want to be dominated, subjugated, and controlled. All things that get me at least as hot as they do you - the evidence of which is leaking from you with my every thrust. Your own body betrays you to me, eager for what only I can do for it. From now on, you will be very thoroughly fucked and just as thoroughly punished any time you displease me. Luckily for you, I also believe that orgasms aid in conception, so you'll be forced to cum each and every time I breed you whether you want to or not."

I was mortifyingly close to orgasm, and, as if he'd read my mind, he withdrew completely and I howled my distress at the loss of his presence within me.

But I needn't have worried.

Seconds later, one hand still viciously gripping my hair and the other forcing my hips up to greet him, making me arch my back and offer myself to him, he rammed himself home within me.

Despite how his fingers had rudely prepared me, it was nowhere near enough.

Nothing would have been enough.

He was - 

I couldn't -

At first, neither my mind nor my body couldn't deal with that thick, hard column lodged firmly within me, and I almost let go of the edge of the table.

And he was ruthless, giving me no time to adjust to him before he began to fuck me relentlessly, each powerful stroke making me feel as if I could detect the presence of his cock at the back of my throat.

When he had punished me, my world had revolved around the misery that was my bottom.

Now, every bit of my attention was focused on my quim and how his cock pounded punishingly into it.

The hand that held my hair let go and I thought I was going to be granted relief from the awkward position my neck had been in, but then the strong fingers of that hand wrapped around my throat instead as he leaned down to whisper, "This is going to be your life from now on. Get used to it. I'm going to use you as a brood mare, and I'm going to take you whenever the urge strikes, and believe me, we've been platonic friends -" he spat the words out of his mouth as if they were poison " - for years now and I will have free reign to take the thousands of nights I lie awake in bed, my cock in my hand, dreaming of doing exactly this to you, out of you. You owe me for all of the times I spilled my seed uselessly over my own hand when it should have been shot deep within you, where it belongs, to take root in your womb and give me the babies I want - that I will get on you, one after the other."

His fingers tightened even further on my throat as he reached beneath us to pinch my clit cruelly. "If you cum before I give you permission, the strap will sing a third time tonight," he promised, slapping my exposed clit hard as he pounded himself into me, hips flexing, battering me, using me.

He continued to harshly swat the most sensitive spot on my body, surprising me by commanding huskily, "Cum. _Now_. I'm not going to rub that little bud of yours for you. I'm not going to tickle it or flick it lightly. I'm going to spank it, almost as frequently as you're going to find yourself spanked." His licked, then sank his teeth - just the other side of painfully - into the spot where my neck became my shoulder, growling, "Even the greatest heights of your ecstasy, I will bring you pain. And you will love every second of it."

How I could manage to orgasm when it seemed as if he was trying to stop me from doing so - as if he was punishing my clit for its impudent desires - I will never be able to fathom.

But I did.

It gathered itself in my toes and rolled violently, unstoppably through my body, destroying everything in its wake. I was no longer myself, I was an uncontrollably writhing, spasming vessel for his seed, my powerful contractions milking him into his own violent release, lifting me up and back against him as he took me, as he filled me, and continued to chastise my little nub through peak after animalistic peak.

Mindlessly, I tried to fight him - too little, much, much, much too late - but he subdued my laughable, unorganized attempts with humiliating ease, clasping me to him, forcing me to be still and accept what his body gave me, to submit my body and myself to him.

And when we were just beginning to come down from those amazing heights, I did. I let go.

He felt it, felt that powerful moment between us and kissed my neck with surprising tenderness as he still held me clamped tightly to him.

"That's it. Give in to me." One palm claimed a breast, squeezing and massaging it painfully, digging his fingers into my flesh. "I know what's best for you. I know who you are and what you need better than _anyone_ else - even you. And I'll make sure you get it, even those parts you don't think you want."

He carried me into his bedroom then with a tenderness that I might have questioned, but I was much too exhausted to do so. I let him lay me down, and he disappeared into the bathroom then came back with a warm wet cloth, which he used to bathe me gently, head to toe, even my _very_ sore bottom.

Everywhere except where I thought he'd head for first.

But then I didn't much care.

I was a bit chilled when he was finished, so when he came back to bed, he spooned himself closely around me.

"I think you killed me, Hiddleston."

My bottom was pinched, hard. "Sir."

I had been completely relaxed, but that was instantly history at his tone and his correction.

He waited a short beat, then prompted firmly, his fingers already poised to correct me again, "Say it."

He couldn't see it, but my eyes widened in the dark. "S-sir." It was one thing to say it during sex - but an entirely different thing to say it _not_ during sex.

And it made me contract, I was horrified to realize - both actually saying it and the fact that he obviously expected me to use it, as well as obey him.

"Good girl."

After a bit of a silence, I finally grabbed my non-existent balls with both hands and asked, "How did you - how did you _know_?"

He laughed softly. "Oh, there were a few clues, plus the fact that you always said that your interests were not the norm. The well-worn copies of Anne Rice's _Beauty_ series in your bookcase were a good clue."

"Well, that's how you determined I like D/s, but what about . . . the other? I've never even breathed a word about those interests to anyone - ever. How could you _possibly_ have known?"

He shrugged, eager fingers finding a still erect nipple and twisting it as he tried to pull it away from my body. "I didn't - I took a shot, and I knew I was on the right track as soon as I heard you gasp like you just did only louder."

His other hand came up to apply the same techniques to the formerly lonesome nipple and he soon had me moving restlessly, my passions rising again when I would have said that that was an absolute impossibility.

But apparently it wasn't for either of us, because I soon found myself rolled onto my back as he spread my legs merely by inserting himself between them, and the first thing he did was to move an ankle to each shoulder, trapping me, forcing me into that terribly vulnerable position beneath him.

Suddenly, something snapped in my head.

"A condom! You need to get a condom! I can't believe I totally forgot it the first time we -"

I barely noticed that he didn't make the slightest move to get up, letting him capture my hands and lace his fingers with mine to press them into the mattress on either side of my head.

He looked down on me, his smile downright wolfish. "Firstly, don't make the mistake of thinking you can tell me what to do. You'll wish you hadn't if you do it again. Secondly, did you think I was kidding about what I said to you, babylove?" he asked as he drove himself into me again, and I knew I was truly helpless to stop him.

Worse than that, deep down, I knew I didn't _want_ to. 

"I haven't used a condom with you and I never will, and I know you're not on the pill - you told me so not long ago, nor will you ever be allowed to use them or any other method to keep me from filling you with my babies."

As he began to take me again, thrusting heavily into me, he neatly transferred my hands to one hand that grasped my wrists and brought them above my head so that his other hand could reach down between us to settle onto my clit, rubbing it roughly then pinching it occasionally - treating it as if it was naughty and impudent to enjoy what he was doing to it so obviously and thoroughly.

He couldn't be serious, could he? my mind asked.

But my body was already his, already accepting him and reveling in what he intended to do to me.

"No, please, you have to stop!" I begged, but we could both plainly hear that my heart wasn't in it.

"Never," he swore, leaning down to kiss me, then raising his head to grin down at me devilishly. "I'm hoping you're _already_ pregnant, and, at least within the few days, I intend that you _will_ be. There's nothing you can do to stop me, and your body doesn’t want me to, anyway. Your body craves exactly what I will give it - strict, hard discipline, tight, unrelenting control, mind blowing orgasms, your breasts always full and your tummy perpetually swollen with my baby."

He was much too heavy for me to push off, and that made it almost impossible for me to move as he fucked me, paying particular attention to my pleasure until he could see that, although I was trying to fight it, I was teetering on the edge.

"You know you want to cum. I can feel how much you do by how tightly your body clasps me, how it grasps for me when I withdraw. You have my permission to do so, and I want you to know that I won't stop until I have seen you attain your pleasure as I fuck you. Every single time. Multiple times. While your bottom's ravaged and throbbing, while my cock splits you wide open - against your will or not - I will always make you orgasm to ensure that I plant my seed in a body that is flushed with the pleasure that I've brought to it."

Somehow, I couldn't look away from him. His fingers seemed to almost vibrate over me, and suddenly I knew the inevitability of all of it.

"That's it. Surrender completely to me. I will have all of you, regardless, one way or the other."

This time was even more powerful than the last, so much so that I became a bit frightened, but his voice was there to soothe me.

"Relax. You're safe, you're where you belong, just let it happen. Welcome it because you know it's what I want for you and that I'll take care of you."

My body melted beneath his, imploding and exploding at the same time, brought along on that violent wave long past the point where he had finished, he drew the acute pleasure out for as long as he could, until he saw me tiring.

As he finally pulled me into his arms and I could feel his seed leaking from between my legs, he whispered, "I would bet we made a baby just now." The kiss he bestowed upon me was surprisingly gentle. "Sleep, you're going to need it."


End file.
